The Spicey's Reblogs

I have a desperate need to ORGANIZE.

[thespiceyoops]

I don’t know how Tumblr works!

I have somehow been here over ten years and am only just finding out that secondary accounts can’t actually do much so I will be revamping my primary and posting there from now on! Please go follow it if you’ve followed this one. 

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thespicey

[lonelysatellites]

Safe hands

Eddie Munson x fem reader

Sex has never been a pleasant experience for you. Selfish partners, anxiety, and pain have all ruined something that you should enjoy. You’re convinced there’s something wrong with you, but Eddie is determined to prove otherwise. 6k.

18+ minors dni: soft smut, oral (f receiving), mention of oral (m receiving), fingering, protected piv, praise kink (because of course there is), reader has anxiety around sex and there’s mentions of pain during intercourse. Pet names used in place of Y/N.

A/N: I know I should be working on the dozen other wips I have gathering dust, but this self-indulgent idea popped into my head and I couldn’t shake it out. So enjoy this very soft and tender smut 🖤

You’d known for a while that this day was coming. As much as you’d hoped there’d be someway to avoid it, it was inevitable that you and Eddie would find yourselves here.

It’s frosty outside. You can see the tiny sparkles of it decorating the edges of the window in Eddie’s room. The last cold snap of those long dark months, winter clinging on by its fingertips, refusing to give over to the warmth and softness of spring.

But it’s hot in the trailer. The air is humid and heavy, heat clinging to your skin, despite the layers that have been stripped away.

Eddie burns over you. Like when the sun disappeared from the sky he’d swallowed it whole, the star glowing white hot in his chest.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispers against your neck.

Your own chest feels tight, his words spoken with such soft adoration you could weep. He raises his head enough to flash you that boyish grin that you love, his lips stretched wide with it. Your fingertips trace over the dimple in his cheek.

Eddie’s hands can’t keep still. He grabs at you greedily, but still gentle, rough palms gliding over smooth skin. Cups the weight of your breasts, kneading over the cotton of your bra. He’d pulled your jumper up over your head as soon as the bedroom door was closed, giggling at the static crackling in your hair. His shirt was next to go, followed by your jeans, left in a crumpled heap on the carpet.

His pillows are soft beneath your head, your body pressed into the mattress by his weight laying over you. Thighs parted so he could slot himself between. There’s a heat blooming between your legs, made worse when the hard length that strains beneath his boxers catches there with each slow roll of his hips. As the pleasure grows, so too does your anxiety.

“There’s something wrong with you.”

The snarling voice is so clear, you find yourself turning your head, glancing around Eddie’s room. Of course there’s no one here but the two of you.

But you can still hear him. See the curl of his lips when he’d spat those words with such disdain.

Your last partner had initially thought he’d won the jackpot.

A girl who was more than happy to get on her knees for him, put his pleasure above all else, expecting nothing in return. But of course he’d wanted more from you. More than you could give him.

You’d grit your teeth and tried to relax, tried so desperately to let it happen. After a few tension filled minutes of awkward shuffling and frustrated grunts, he’d rolled off of you, snatching up his clothes from your bedroom floor.

You’d cried. Apologised. Pleaded with him to stay.

“There’s something wrong with you.” He’d said, as he slammed the door closed behind him.

“Hey.”

You blink. Pull your gaze away from the bedroom door, back to Eddie’s face. He hovers over you, eyes round with concern, brows pinched in the middle.

“Are you okay?” He murmurs.

“Yeah. M’fine.” You lie.

“You sure?” Eddie smoothes his hand across your brow, sweeping down to cup your cheek.

“Do you want to stop?”

Yes.

“No. Of course not.” You reply.

You pull him in by his shoulders, pressing his lips to yours. It’s a poor attempt at a distraction. You just can’t bear to have Eddie looking at you like that. Like he can see beneath the mask you’ve been so careful to keep in place.

You kiss him deeper, slipping your tongue into his mouth. Eddie makes a surprised sound when your hand snakes down between your bodies, reaching for the tent in his underwear.

“H-hang on. Just stop for a second, okay?” Eddie says. He pushes your hand away.

“What did I do?” You whisper.

“Nothing. It’s just.. sweetheart, you’re shaking. And you look like you’re gonna burst into tears.”

Shame twists your guts. You can feel the heat prickling your eyes, Eddie’s features blurring.

“I’m fine.” You say unconvincingly.

“Look, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Eddie says. He sits up on his knees, putting distance between you.

“I want to.” You say quickly.

“Doesn’t really seem like it. You keep looking at the door like you wanna fucking bolt.” Eddie says sourly.

He knows he shouldn’t snap at you. But it’s so hard when all of his insecurities and fears are rearing their heads once again. He’d convinced himself things might be different this time.

You weren’t using him, not after cheap weed or satiating some curiosity about whether the rumours about the freak were true. You were sweet, patient, seemed so genuinely interested in all the things that made Eddie Eddie.

But now you looked like you’d rather be anywhere but here with him.

Your quiet sob makes his chest ache. You clamp your hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds, tears steadily leaking down your cheeks and wetting his pillows.

“Hey. I’m sorry, please don’t cry.” Eddie says, that usual warmth returning to his voice. He takes your wrists and gently pulls you up, holding you to his chest as you cry.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? You know you can talk to me, right?” He says.

“I’m s-sorry. I’m ruining everything.” You sob.

“Shhhh. Stop it. You haven’t ruined anything.” Eddie cups your cheeks and tilts your head back, forcing you to look at him.

“Can you just talk to me? Tell me what’s going on in your head?” He pleads.

“I’m scared.” You admit quietly.

“What are you scared of?”

“Of.. of not being good, at all this.” You say, weakly waving your hand between your bodies.

“Of not being good enough at this for you.”

“Sweetheart, I really don’t think you need to worry about that.” Eddie says with a soft smile.

“I want you, I want to do this with you. If you’re not… experienced, that doesn’t matter. We’ll just figure things out as we go.”

You shake your head. He wasn’t getting it.

“N-no. It’s more than that. I - I can’t. I’ve never-.” Your breathing was now coming in quick pants, panic coursing through your veins. Your body trembles more violently.

“It’s alright, just breath.” Eddie says calmly.

“It hurts Eddie.”

“What hurts?”

“Sex. Every time I’ve had sex before it hurts. It’s like my body just won’t let me relax, I get so in my head and I go all tense.”

Eddie’s brows dart up in surprise, but now the words have started to flow out you’re powerless to stop them.

“The first time I thought it was normal. But then it just kept happening, every time. And some guys like it, y’know, they say it’s good that I’m tight, but it never feels good for me. And last time.. the last time I tried to do this with someone, I was so wound up, I just couldn’t. He couldn’t get it in. And I was trying to relax, and he was pushing and pushing and it’s like my body just wouldn’t let it happen. And so he left. He said there’s something wrong with me. And he’s right - I’m broken!”

Eddie’s been staring at you in horror. Jaw hanging slack, dark eyes owlish and glistening. When you stop speaking, losing yourself in more sobs, his jaw clenches tight, a deep frown on his face.

“Look at me. Sweetheart, look at me.” He orders firmly.

You sniffle, but comply, just managing to bear the heat of his stare.

“There is nothing wrong with you, you’re not broken. Fuck, I - I could kill that asshole for talking to you like that. I could kill everyone of those fuckers for not treating you right.”

“It’s not their fault.” You say weakly.

“Yes it is. Don’t defend them. It’s shouldn’t hurt sweetheart, it should feel good. God, you deserve to feel good.” He says softly. He kisses the corner of your mouth, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

Resting his forehead against yours, Eddie looks you in the eyes.

“We don’t have to do anything, okay? I’m happy to just lay here and hold you, if you’ll let me.”

You don’t know what you did right in your life to deserve Eddie Munson. This kind, gentle boy, who looks at you like you hung every star in the sky that glitters above the trailer.

“I want to.. y’know.” You whisper.

“Okay. Well we can, but let’s talk about it first yeah?”

You nod. Eddie moves to lay at your side, arms wrapped around your waist to pull you close.

“Has it ever been good?” He asks.

“No.” You admit.

“So no one’s ever made you cum?”

“No, they haven’t.”

Eddie clears his throat.

“Have you uh.. have you ever?”

Your cheeks burn with heat.

“I have.” You mumble against his chest, too embarrassed to look at him.

“But only on my own.”

“Okay, well that’s good. Definitely not broken.” Eddie smiles.

“When you’ve slept with people before, did you tell them what you like?”

“I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“They never asked.” You shrug.

Eddie sighs, his frown returning.

“Well that’s the problem. No two people are the same, right? You can’t just do the same thing with anyone and expect the same results. You have to take your time, figure out the person that you’re with.”

The heat between your legs is back. Your core throbs as Eddie murmurs to you, his hands stroking soothingly over your hips.

“Will you - can you do that?” You ask hesitantly.

“Of course I can sweetheart. If you want me to.” Eddie says softly.

“I do.”

Eddie nods, laying you down and resuming his previous position over you.

“We’ll go slow okay? I want you to tell me what you like, and what you don’t. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” You reply. It’s always so easy to say yes to him.

“Good girl.” Eddie smiles.

Your breath catches in your throat, another wave of arousal making your underwear damp.

“I - I like that.” You whisper, like it’s a secret.

“Yeah? You like when I call you my good girl?” Eddie says, his lips trailing a burning path down your neck.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

“Noted.” Eddie grins.

You giggle, peering down as he moves to your chest, mouthing over the flesh spilling from the cups of your bra.

“Can I take this off?” He asks.

Your spine curls in permission, arched so he can reach a hand underneath you. Eddie makes quick work of unsnapping the hooks. You expect him to tear the garment away in a hurry like he did with your sweater.

Instead he hooks his fingers under the straps, kissing along your shoulders and arms as he slides them down. When it’s finally peeled away, Eddie groans, pupils blown as he takes in your bare chest.

“Perfect.” He says, so quietly it’s like he’s saying the words to himself.

“Can I kiss you here?” He murmurs, one finger tracing the swell of your breast.

“Please.”

He’s so gentle. Far slower than you anticipated. He takes his time, pressing kisses to your heated skin, his nose nuzzling in the valley between your breasts. When he moves up to swirl his tongue teasingly around the hardened bud of your nipple you whine, a high pitched keening sound from the back of your throat.

It could be minutes or hours, you’re not really sure. Time slows, losing all meaning as Eddie moves across your chest. His teeth graze one bud, nipping lightly.

“I like that.” You gasp, remembering his instructions to voice what pleases you.

He responds by doing it again, just a little harder.

Eddie shuffles lower on the bed, kissing the indents on your ribs left by your bra. He mouths over your stomach, tongue leaving a glistening trail. You’re shaking again, not from nerves this time, but from the anticipation. Each inch lower brings his mouth closer to where you want him.

“Eddie.” You whine. He looks up, his chin resting on your hip.

“Yeah baby?”

Your eyelids flutter at the new name, falling so easily from his lips, now red and swollen from his kisses.

“Please.” You beg.

“Please what? What do you need sweetheart?” He says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You squirm, body flushing hot, feeling too shy to voice your desire. But he knows without you saying a word.

“D’you want me to kiss you here?” He says, tracing a finger along the seam of your panties.

“Y-yes.” You squeak. Your hips buck, chasing his touch.

“Thank god. I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you since the moment we met.” He admits.

You raise your hips from the bed, an invitation for you to pull off your underwear. But despite being so keen himself, Eddie presses you back into the mattress.

He sinks to his knees at the end of the bed.

“Shuffle down a bit for me honey.” He instructs, his voice low and raspy with lust. He waits patiently as you move, but unsatisfied with your position takes hold of your ankles and pulls, until your ass is right at the edge, legs draped over his shoulders.

It starts at your ankles. Chaste kisses pressed to each one. Then your calves, one being loved on with his mouth, the other massaged with his large hands. It has the desired effect, relaxing you until you’re almost boneless. No longer worried about the weight of your legs on his shoulders, you let your muscles go limp, melting into the mattress.

At your thighs his kisses become hungrier, but he never increases his pace. Kissing up up up, nuzzling the round tip of his nose into the crease where your panties rest on your skin. When you feel the heat of his breath over the cotton that covers you, you whine his name once again.

“You’re so pretty.” He says, his lips brushing the fabric as he speaks.

“Doin’ so good for me.”

The kiss he leaves on your clit is dulled by the barrier of your underwear, but it’s still enough to have the heat in your belly increasing. The gentle warmth now the crackling beginnings of a fire.

“Can I take these off?” He says, still kissing the fabric, growing damper by the second from your arousal and his mouth.

“Please Eddie.” You whimper.

You hardly recognise your own voice, you’ve never sounded like this. So fucked out, so desperate, and he’s barely even touched you yet.

He leans back as he pulls on your panties, peeling them away from your slick skin and rolling them down your legs. When you’re bared to him, he lifts your legs back into their previous position.

“Remember, tell me what you like. And if you want to stop, we can.” Eddie says.

“Okay.” You whisper.

The first kiss to your bare skin has your toes curling.

It’s almost chaste, just a delicate peck to your bud. Eddie’s mouth falls open, his breath hot as it wafts over you. His tongue inches out, an experimental lick swiped up the seam of you. He flattens the muscle, dragging it slow, chocolate eyes trained on your face for a reaction. Your head falls back to the sheets, a shuddering moan tearing from your chest. You can feel the victorious smile he wear as he continues to lick at you.

He’s so slow with it. Not hesitant or unsure. No, it’s like he just wants to take his time, savour every drop of you that spills. He alternates between dancing his tongue through your folds, and sucking your clit into his mouth, pillowy soft lips sealed over you.

You want to tell him you like it, you want him to do it more, to never stop. But you’ve lost the ability to speak.

Not that it matters. Eddie seems to read your body better than anyone before, perhaps because he’s the first to try. His gaze never leave your face, intense eye contact as he waits for the hitches in your breath and the shaking of your thighs to guide him.

He’s groaning against your flesh, like it feels just as heavenly for him as it does for you. He grips your hips, blunt fingernails digging in as he pulls you down, smothering his face with your cunt.

Those flickering flames are now a raging inferno. It feels different than anything you’ve managed to achieve on your own. Your body is burning, lava coursing through your veins, white hot heat polling low in your belly.

“E-Eddie! I’m - I’m gonna-“ you gasp. You fist the bedsheets so hard it’s a wonder you don’t tear clean through them.

He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t change anything about his movements. He continues to suck on your clit with that same firm pressure, his hold on your hips turning bruising. When you dare a glance down you find his eyes still trained on you, fire burning behind them, flecks of gold in the brown that hasn’t yet been swallowed by his pupils.

It’s enough to push you over the edge. You give in, letting the flames engulf you, sure that when it’s over you’ll be nothing but a smoking pile of ash on the bed. Your thighs clench, squeezing around Eddie’s head, but he still doesn’t stop. Languidly licking at you until you’re whining from the overstimulation, no longer rocking your hips against his face but trying to twist away from him.

He smiles up at you, slick shining on his chin and cheeks. Lips ruby red and swollen.

“How was that baby?” He asks, soothing his hands over your twitching thighs.

You’re panting, still not sure you can speak. You nod weakly, and Eddie laughs. He clambers back onto the bed, pulling your pliant body with him, until the two of you are once again settled on his pillows.

His kisses are soft and sweet, tasting of you. Eddie cradles your face in his palms, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, while you tangle your legs with his, determined to be closer.

“You’re - you’re so good at that.” You say breathlessly.

Eddie chuckles, smiling almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just given you the best orgasm of your life.

The firm length of him is trapped between your bodies, pressed to your hip.

“I can do the same for you now, if you want.” You offer.

“That’s a very tempting offer sweetheart.” Eddie says softly.

“But I’m not done with you yet.”

You frown.

“But I already came.” You reply.

“I know. But I’ve got some making up to do. So I think you deserve another, don’t you?”

Eddie kisses your temple, the hand on your hip skimming down to cup between your legs. You’re still sensitive, jolting when his thumb brushes over your clit. But you can feel it, beneath the sensitivity, that heat still lingers.

“You deserve to feel good, don’t you baby?” He whispers into the juncture of your neck, pressing kisses there as the rough pads of his fingers swirl over you.

“Y-yeah.” You say shakily.

“Say it.” He gently commands.

You swallow the lump in your throat, his ministrations so distracting you struggle to arrange your thoughts into a coherent sentence.

“I deserve to feel good.” You whisper.

“Yeah you do. Good girl.” Eddie grins.

There’s something so unfamiliar about his touches.

They’re not hurried, not impatient, like every boy before him just looking to get you wet enough so they could take what they wanted. Eddie’s not touching you for his own benefit. He’s studying you, figuring you out just like he promised he would. Between sweet kisses he watches your face, smiling to himself when your breath shudders and your eyes roll back.

“When you touch yourself how many fingers do you put in?” He asks. The question could sound filthy coming from anyone else, but from Eddie it’s caring, like he doesn’t want to push you too far.

“Just one.” You whisper.

He nods. His fingers are still collecting your slick, bringing it up to rub frustratingly slow circles on your clit. Not enough to get you off, just keeping the embers burning.

“You want me to put one in?” He says, nuzzling his nose against your jaw.

At this point you’d usually freeze, the panic setting in. But you feel so safe, you find yourself nodding before you really register what you’re agreeing to.

“Okay. Just give me a sec.” He says.

Eddie pulls his hand away, chuckling when you whine in frustration. A kiss is pecked on the tip of your nose as his hand reaches blindly into the drawer of his nightstand. The items inside rattle for a moment while he searches, until he pulls out a small plastic bottle.

You cringe at the sight of the lube. Your ex lamented using it.

“You should be wet enough without it.”

“I’m sorry. That you have to use that.” You mumble, feeling your cheeks burn with shame.

Eddie shushes you softly.

“What are you apologising for sweet girl? I just don’t want to hurt you.” He says.

He squeezes a small amount onto his fingers, warming the gel between them. When his hand reaches back down between your legs his fingers glide smoothly, your arousal and the lube providing a satisfying wetness.

“I’ll go slow, okay?” Eddie says.

You’re so grateful for his patience, for the way he keeps checking in and reassuring you. You know you’re in safe hands.

As the tip of his finger nudges at your entrance, you feel your muscles clench involuntarily. Your teeth grit together painfully, preparing yourself for the inevitable pain.

But it doesn’t come. Eddie slides in slowly, and your walls accommodate him easily. As he reaches the second knuckle you exhale the breath you were holding.

“Keep talking to me baby. Let me know you’re okay.” He instructs.

“I’m good.” You reply.

He’s all the way in now. Eddie curls his finger, exploring inside you, his thumb keeping that torturously slow pace on your clit. You feel him brush a spot within you, somewhere you’ve never felt another’s touch before. A gasp escapes you, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“There.” You exclaim.

“Yeah?” Eddie grins.

“That’s the spot?”

“Uh huh.” You sigh.

He presses more firmly against it and you keen, hips bucking into his hand again.

The steady motion of his hand, his finger rubbing insistently over that sweet spot, and his gentle touches on your bud. It all feels so good, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.

“M-more.” You beg.

“You want another?”

“Please.”

Eddie’s ring finger presses in alongside his middle. It’s more of a stretch now, that familiar sting as you try to let him in. But it’s over in a second, the pain replaced with a pleasant fullness.

“That’s it. Just breath. You’re doing so good.” Eddie murmurs.

Your thighs are shaking again. You can feel the coil in your belly winding tight, each slow thrust of his fingers moving you closer and closer to the precipice.

“I can feel you squeezing me baby.” He says in awe.

“You gonna cum for me again?”

A friend once told you the French call orgasms ‘la petite mort’ - little death. You never really understood it, until now.

Those flames swallow you whole once more, and you’re so absorbed in the pleasure you could be dying in Eddie’s arms, lost to everything but him. And when he kisses you, he breathes life back into your lungs.

As the ringing in your ears subsides you can hear him, whispering praises into your hair as you come down. It’s like a prayer, those saccharine words recited with such adoration.

Eddie’s hand retreats, and you feel the loss instantly, that delicious fullness now missing.

Your chest heaves, lungs screaming as you gulp down mouthfuls of humid air, every nerve in your body quivering like a like wire.

“Oh my god.” You whimper. Your heavy lids peek open, finding the boy looking over you.

“Wasn’t too much was it?” He asks hesitantly. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, still wet fingers tapping a sticky drumbeat on your thigh.

“No, it wasn’t too much.” You say quietly.

‘It wasn’t enough’ your heart screams.

‘Give me more. Give me everything.’

Reassured by your words Eddie breaks out into a smile, his rounded cheeks glowing a rosy pink. You love when he smiles like that. The crinkles at the edges of his eyes deepening, that dimple making a reappearance.

“You’re so pretty.” You confess, leaning up to press your lips to the divot in his cheek.

Eddie falters. His cheeks flush deeper, brows shooting up under his bangs. He grabs a fistful of his hair, tugging it across his face in a poor attempt to conceal his grin.

“What?” You giggle, poking at his sides.

“No ones ever called me pretty before.” He says. He’s still smiling, attempting to be humorous, but there’s a tremor in his voice. Like he can’t quite believe your words.

“Well they should, because you are.”

“Thank you baby.” Eddie says, burying his face in your shoulder.

“Say it.” You whisper, repeating his own words back to him. There’s a hint of teasing, but beneath it you’re deadly serious. You want him to know just how special he is.

“I - I’m pretty.” He mumbles against your skin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” You tease.

Eddie huffs, grinning and blushing as he raises his head.

“I’m pretty.” He repeats.

“Good boy.” You smirk.

Eddie groans, dragging his palm down his face.

“God. You’re gonna kill me.” He says.

“Not before you sleep with me I hope.”

It’s bolder than you’ve ever dared be in a situation like this. But despite the vulnerability, being completely bared to someone physically and emotionally, you know you have nothing to fear from Eddie.

“Oh. I - sweetheart, I don’t think we should...”

Eddie realises his mistake as soon as he opens his mouth. You recoil, pulling away from him like his rejection was delivered as a stinging slap to your cheek. He watches as your eyes turn glassy and your bottom lip trembles.

“No! Baby no, I didn’t mean.. it’s not that I don’t want to!” He says.

“It’s fine.” You reply quickly, the wobble in your voice suggesting it’s anything but.

Desperately Eddie grabs your arms and pulls you close before you can climb out of his bed.

“Sweetheart. Please listen to me. I want to sleep with you, of course I do. Christ, I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock here.” He says.

“It’s just, we’ve already done so much. And this was about you, not me. I don’t want you to think all of this just so I could get something out of it. I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I want to make you feel good too.” You sniffle. You blink back the tears, refusing to let them fall.

“Please Eddie. I want you.”

Eddie’s head is telling him this is a bad idea. He should insist that you clean off and get some sleep, this can all wait for another day when your thoughts aren’t clouded by a post orgasm haze. But his heart, and perhaps another body part, are saying something different. You’re here in his bed, practically begging for him. Who was Eddie to resist such a sweet temptation?

“Okay. I’ve got you honey.”

When he kisses you, your lips part eagerly, letting his tongue snake its way in. It’s a slow waltz of two muscles, wet and warm, with so much tenderness.

When your hand reaches to touch him, Eddie doesn’t push you away this time. He moans into your mouth as his boxers are pushed down, louder still when your hand wraps around him.

You feel more confident with this part. You know that you’re good at this, have touched enough boys as a distraction from them touching you to know exactly what to do to get them to fall apart.

Your fist squeezes around Eddie’s cock, hot and heavy in your hand. The movements start slow, an echo of the way he touched you. Up and down his length, feeling it twitch in your palm. Your thumb swipes over the flushed head, smearing the beads of pre that are steadily leaking from the slit.

Eddie groans, hips bucking, thrusting himself into you fist. You pepper kisses along his jaw, down to his neck where you can suck a small bruise onto pale skin.

No one before him has been so vocal. Every soft sigh, every grunt, every strained word of praise that he utters goes straight to your core.

“F-fuck. Baby, you gotta s-stop.” Eddie stammers.

You cease your movements immediately.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. But if you keep that up this is all gonna be over too fast.” He admits sheepishly.

You flop back onto the pillows with a satisfied grin, watching as Eddie sits up on his knees.

He reaches over you back into the drawer. Retrieving a condom, he hastily tears the foil wrapper with his teeth, rolling it down over himself. He’s settled between your legs now, squeezing more lube into his hand and giving himself a few light teasing strokes. You watch in awe at the way he touches himself, making a mental note of his speed and pressure, paying attention to what he likes.

That familiar anxiety is beginning to churn in your guts. Even in his own large fist, Eddie’s cock looks huge. A longer than average length, but it’s the thickness that has moths stirring in your stomach. There was no way this wasn’t going to hurt.

He shuffles to a better position, the head of his cock lightly pressing on your clit. As he swipes down through your sticky folds, you feel your muscles clench involuntarily.

“Hey.” Eddie says softly, pulling you from your spiralling thoughts.

“Eyes on me baby. Just breathe, and keep looking at me.” He instructs.

You nod, throat too tight for words.

You focus on those chocolate puddles of eyes, the way they never leave your face, even as his head catches at your entrance. There’s so much warmth behind them, a tenderness and care you’re not used to feeling directed your way.

Eddie presses in slowly.

The burn is intense, despite all of his hard work to get you prepared. Your brows pinch, and in less than a second it’s gone. Eddie’s pulled out, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your thighs.

“D’you wanna stop?” He asks.

“No. Keep going, please.” You manage to whisper.

He tries again. As Eddie rolls his hips forwards you exhale a deep breath, like you’re trying to blow away all the tension in your body. His head pops inside, and you just keep breathing like he told you to. A few seconds later and he’s halfway in.

The sting is already subsiding. All you can feel is that same fullness, more intense than with his fingers, and more delicious. Hooking your ankles over his lower back, you pull him closer. Encouraging him to slide all the way in, one final push having him bottoming out.

“Oh shit.” Eddie whines. His teeth are gritted, heavy eyelids fluttering.

“You’re so warm.”

“Y-you’re so big.” You squeak in reply.

His cock twitches at your words.

“S’not too much?” He asks.

“No. S’perfect. You’re perfect Eddie.” You smile.

He flashes you a grin. His body falls over yours, forearms resting on the pillow either side of your head to keep himself propped up. The new angle forces him deeper than you even thought possible. Your body feels like it’s stretched to its limits, but it’s working, your walls wrapping around him snuggly like they’re welcoming him home.

Eddie nuzzles his nose against yours, warm breath fanning across your face when he sighs in pleasure.

“You can move now, if you want to.” You murmur.

With your permission granted, Eddie rolls his hips back. Pulling out halfway only to sink back into your heat. You can feel him everywhere: the smooth glide of his cock pressing into you, his hands in your hair, bellies damp with sweat stuck together, his lips ghosting over yours. Each slow thrust has the wiry curls at his base stroking over your clit, swollen with all the attention it’s received.

Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you dot kisses across his skin like silent thank yous.

“You okay?” Eddie says breathlessly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, meaning it completely. You’ve never felt so cared for.

No ones ever had you like this. You’re used to harsh unforgiving thrusts, quick fucks that left you sore and disappointed. Everything about Eddie is so different. His languid pace, the careful attention he pays you, the intimacy of him kissing your temple as you squeeze around him.

“God. Baby, you’re doing so good f’me. I love the way you feel, s’like heaven.” Eddie slurs, sounding more than a little pussy drunk.

That four letter word spins around and around in your mind like a carousel. It’s much too soon for it to be spoken in any other context. Your relationship was still so new. A tiny bud just beginning to awaken in the sunshine, unfurling its delicate petals to stretch in the golden glow.

Still, you realise then how easily you could fall in love with Eddie Munson. It already feels like his name is branded across your heart, the letters seared into muscle.

Your third and final orgasm of the night creeps up on you. Building as a tingle that runs up your spine, spreading into every limb until you feel it in the tips of your fingers and toes. It’s not a blazing heat like the others. More like sinking into a warm bath at the end of a long arduous day. Soothing heat. Comforting and safe.

Eddie whines your name. Turns his head and crashes his lips to yours just as his own high reaches its crescendo. His hips stutter, fingers curling into a fierce grip on the soft down of his pillows. He cries out, and you feel the blooming heat of him spilling into the condom, thrusts growing weaker as he rides it out. For a moment you find yourself hating the thin latex that covers him. Wishing you take all of his pleasure, watch it trickle back out when he’s done.

Eddie collapses onto you. His chest heaves, spent limbs turning to dead weight, not that you mind. You weakly raise one hand, combing through his curls, dampened at the roots from his efforts.

There’s a slight aching in your cunt. Your hips are screaming in protest from being spread open for so long. But there’s no pain in your chest. No hollow emptiness, and no sour taste on your tongue. You exhale a contented sigh, pushing Eddie’s bangs back so you can kiss his forehead.

He lifts his head, resting his chin on your sternum. His eyes are heavy. He looks blissful and sleepy.

“Hey.” You say softly.

“Hey.” Eddie replies.

“Was that okay?”

“Perfect.” He grins.

With a groan he pushes up, moving slow as he pulls out.

“Was it.. was it okay for you? I didn’t hurt you?” Eddie asks anxiously.

“It was amazing.” You reassure.

Eddie smiles. You roll onto your side, watching as he clambers off the edge of the bed and removes the condom, tying it and tossing it into the trash.

“Thank you.”

Eddie tuts.

“You don’t need to thank me silly girl.” He says affectionately. You shuffle back to make space for him to climb back in beside you.

“But you took such good care of me.”

“M’just treating you the way you deserve to be treated.” He says. His fingers wander lightly over your cheek, tracing tiny patterns across smooth skin.

“I should probably get us some water. And you can go to the bathroom.” Eddie comments.

“Don’t wanna.” You grumble, pushing your face against his chest.

“Just wanna cuddle.”

Eddie laughs.

“Alright cuddle bug. Five minutes, then you’ve got to pee, and I’ll make you a cup of camomile.”

“I didn’t have you down as a camomile tea kind of person too.”

You feel Eddie shrug.

“I’m not. I just remembered you saying you like it, so I picked some up.”

You were definitely right.

It would be so easy to fall in love with Eddie Munson.

[thespicey]

Panic Magnus Archives Fic

I have reached that feral level of hyper fixation where I need to consume and produce ungodly amounts of fan content about this thing so this is what happened while I was waiting for my tablet to charge enough for me to finish the fanart I was in the middle of. It is not particularly grand but it's what I needed at the moment, I may add to it if the inspiration hits. Lots of canon-typical emotions and these two being hopelessly in love.

(Also thank you for this fandom for being so unbelievably chill and lovely, I needed it.)

What if Jon didn't die? What if at the last moment Martin made a different choice and somehow, beyond all reason, it worked.

Content Warning: Canon typical descriptions of violence and injury

Word Count: 1,669

Nothing. That is new. No pain, no exhaustion, no tension behind eyes pulling his vision in a million different directions. Just an overwhelming nothing.

It should probably be concerning, humans aren’t supposed to feel nothing, and yet here he is floating in a sea of silent numbness, a million miles from anything resembling something. Maybe there was something past The End, maybe the Vast or the Lonely had a little piece of that pie and… oh. Did that mean he failed? Not surprising to say the least, he’d never truly expected… or hoped that final last ditch effort would succeed. The thought of passing on his apocalypse, his new world… his knowledge… well he can’t say it was just the Eye that had resisted in the end. But it had ended. He’d felt the knife hit… wait, where did it hit, there had been pain, immense pain right after Martin's lips… Martin. Martin? Martin!

It takes less than a moment for his mind to cease its drifting as alarm burns away the nothing from his body, limbs that had seemed not to exist moments ago began to flail and claw at the darkness surrounding him. He wants nothing more than to scream but has not yet found his voice in what was now an all consuming panic. He feels his mouth open and nearly chokes as air rushes into his lungs, burning and spasming as if they’ve never known air before. His eyes fly open, or at least that was what he had intended; the moment he tries to engage that familiar motion a new wave of raging hot pain explodes through his head and sends him sprawling onto his back gasping and shaking weakly.

He realizes with hazy awareness that he had landed somewhere soft and solid, a warm pressure against his back and around his shoulders. There is a muffled sound a million miles away that seems like it could be words but in his fevered state it could easily be the roaring of a dying sun blinking down at him. Maybe they had succeeded and this was The Eye’s final snarls as it is sucked from this particular existence. Good riddance. He snarls back, finding with an almost despairing heaviness that he truly means it. Maybe it’s that last tendril of the Watchers grasp slipping from his mind as the faces of those he’s lost since the beginning flood his mind with regret and sorrow anew. He wants to curl back into the nothing, the quiet, the lonely, the vast, the end, whatever will take him at this point. Whether he died or not this new hell was all his and he no longer feels the self righteous martyrdom that had fueled him before, why should he, there’s no one to martyr himself for any longer. A cool hand drags him from his despair as it finds his cheek, or what he thinks is his cheek, a soft thumb dragging gently over his cheekbone as the rest of the fingers disappear into the tangled mass of hair around his ear. All thoughts freeze in confusion and in the silence he can hear the muffled sounds clarify into a voice he recognizes.

“Jon?”

His mouth opens and closes several times, the words lost against what feels like barbed wire coiled in his throat. With monumental effort and a pained whimper his hands reach blindly out until they tangle in something soft and familiar, the blue jumper he remembers gripping tightly as they shared what was supposed to be a final kiss. He pulls tightly, manically trying to get closer to the body in the jumper and feeling the figure hold him tighter, a cool forehead pressing against his ,soothing the burning pain that still rages under his skin.

“Jon, Jon its ok, I’m here. I’m here.” It’s Martin’s voice, tight and trembling but oh so impossibly soft as his breath fans over Jon’s nose. “We’re ok.”

They stay there for what feels like an eternity, clinging to each other and simply breathing, savoring the moments they’d grieved never having again and trying to convince themselves that it’s real, it’s not a dream, a hallucination or some twisted new hellscape of whatever Fear had snatched them up this time.

It’s Jon that breaks the moment first with a shuddering groan as a wave of nauseous pain washes over, he leans away from Martin as the sudden urge to vomit hits him, the sensation of spinning taking over all his senses with nothing to visually tell him otherwise.

“Woah, ok, you’re ok. Just take it easy” The other man murmurs, his hands coming to steady Jon as his head hangs low.

“Martin…My ey-” His voice scrapes quietly into the air, his words choked off by a sudden retching, he doesn’t need Beholding to know but also something in him refuses to let him accept it. He can feel the emptiness under the surging pain, the nerve endings frayed and cut where there should be something more. He can feel the urge to blink, to open his lids and rub away whatever is obscuring his vision but he knows… He feels Martin tense at his side, his hand pulling back a fraction of an inch as guilt and fear bubble up in his throat.

Martin can see the damage he did, the dried blood streaking down Jons skin, pooling in and coursing over the lines of stress and scars that mark the face he adores so much. He can see the empty sockets and the viscera still leaking past his lashes, he wants to wipe it away but what good would that do when his own hands are covered in the same blood. There’s tears in his eyes and he curses their ability to do so as he feels Jons thin shoulders shake under his palm.

“I couldn’t…I couldn’t kill you.” He whispers, his vision blurring as his heart thuds painfully against his chest “I just couldn’t! You broke your promise so I had to try! It was either dead or… or this and I just couldn’t. I’m not sorry, ok? I- I mean- I am- I am sorry, oh Jon, I’m so sorry! I-” His spiraling apologies are choked off with a sob as he feels Jon’s hand on his, his thin fingers gripping Martins tightly as he hunches away from him.

When the vertigo passes enough for Jon to figure out which way is up he slowly turns, his free hand guiding him with hesitant fingers up Martin's jean-clad thigh, over the worn jumper until his grip tangles in the knitted fabric over the man’s heart. He releases the hand that still holds Martins and feels him flinch, a new wave of sobs bubbling up. He gently reaches up to where he instinctively knows the man’s cheek is, easily finding it even in the endless dark in front of him. He feels Martin exhale in surprise, his breath stuttering as he reflexively leans into Jon’s palm.

“Thank you.”

Without another word their lips meet, each relaxing into the other as if the weight of the past years had slipped away like a shadow in the dawn.

Jon finds himself for the first time in what feels like an eternity fully and completely focused, nothing but the sensation of Martin pressed against him, their hearts beating wildly in tandem, the press of his hands against Jons back, twisting themselves into the beaten fabric of his sweater. He can taste the salty tears and a hint of smoke as he breathes against Martin's lips, a warm breeze drifting what he assumes is his hair across his cheeks. Their lips part and they rest foreheads together in peaceful silence, he has no idea where they are or what is happening and he revels in it, the only knowledge available to him that Martin is here in his arms and they are both alive.

“So uh..” Jon coughs slightly on the words, feeling Martin rub his back gently as he lets his senses drift to their surroundings “Where are we? I hear birds so it feels safe to assume we’re not in some other hellish fearscape?”

“Honestly? I’m not actually too sure?” Martin chuckles “I thought we had somehow landed back at Daisy’s cabin but there’s not actually a cabin here, just a pile of rotted wood.”

“Rotted wood? Well if Miss Annabelle Kane is to be believed I would hazard a guess that we’ve found ourselves in a universe where either she has hopefully avoided the Hunt, thus having no need of this cabin or we’ve traveled far enough into the future that it has simply rotted away of its own accord?”

They both sit in silence for a long moment before Martin’s giggle breaks the silence.

“I’d like to hear you come up with a better suggestion.” Jon snaps, only slightly peeved at Martin's outburst but unable to stop the way the corners of his lips tick up at the sound.

“No, no you’re probably right.” Martin chuckles, wiping fresh tears from his cheeks “I just never thought there would be a universe where I would hear you say that with such seriousness.”

Jon shakes his head with amused exasperation, the motion causing a wave of vertigo to pitch him forward into Martin who sputters wildly. “Before we figure out what universe we landed in I think a trip to the hospital is in order.”

Taking entirely too long they eventually get Jon to unsteady feet, the disorienting feeling of not being able to see where to put his feet makes for a slow start to their journey. Jon curses frequently and leans heavily into Martin but as the warmth of a summer sun spills across his cheeks and the damp smells of recently rained on flora slowly replace the sensations of the horrific landscape they left behind he doesn’t hold back the smile that creeps across his cheeks and lets Martin lead him on a new adventure.

[fastcardotmp3]

I love childhood friends or old school days crushes Steddie as much as the next guy but do you know what is so good about the canon version of their history? God it's just.

Never in my wildest dreams would it or should it have been you; never did I imagine you as anything other than what I saw; never did I think you had it in you to prove me wrong; never did I believe I had it in me to let you

There is something so delicious about two guys who aren't meant to be, who have never been meant to be, who would never meet so much as become friendly so much as anything more under literally any circumstances other than these, the traumatic and tragic and terrible lot of them.

Because without the bad, god they'd have been so free, they'd have been so different and so untethered to this town and all the horror it has to offer, but they'd also be without each other, without themselves as they are.

Because holding onto each other is a grab bag of good and bad-- it's all those memories bottled in one man's face but it's all that camaraderie in someone else's hands too-- and there's a choice here to be made about accepting the cards you've been dealt versus trying to scrap the whole deck and just.

The idea that they'd choose the hard way in the name of being seen and understood.

The idea that it's worth the work despite never having been written in even the most distant of stars.

The idea that everyone who looks at them and thinks odd couple who thinks that shouldn't work is kind of right but also wholly wrong because this isn't any other set of circumstances.

This is their lives, their dice falling in this very specific way, and they get to decide what to make of that.

Maybe they get to decide them. Maybe that's the most beautiful part of it all.

[anzelsilver]

When Steve decided to give college a try, Eddie was 100% supportive.

When Steve found people to hang out with and study after classes, Eddie was still 100% supportive.

When Steve started coming home late every Wednesday because of very long "study sessions", Eddie was still 100% supportive but, maybe 2% anxious.

When Steve started avoiding questions about this "study group" he goes to every week, Eddie's support was tanking faster than the 1929 stock market.

He knew logically Steve would never cheat on Eddie. There was still that niggling piece of doubt that wonders when the other shoe would drop. Will Steve find a smarter, more professional girl or guy who had their life all figured out and take Steve away from him and leave Eddie choking on the dust? Percentage was low but not quite 0.

The next Wednesday Steve came home late, Eddie sat in their apartment living room with the lights off. If he was going to get dumped, he may as well do it as cinematically dramatic as possible. He'll romanticize his own breakup to hell and back if he wants to. The theatrics might stop him from splintering into pieces.

Steve stepped inside, turned the light on and to his credit, barely reacted to Eddie staring at the door.

"Hey babe. Were you waiting up for me? I'm sorry, the study group went on a bit longer tonight. I brought takeout."

Eddie guessed Steve still hadn't noticed his rigid stature or blank expression. He took a deep breath, counted to ten and said, "Steve."

That got a reaction out of him. Steve snapped his head up, worried, "What? What's wrong? You never call me by my first name, what happened?" He quickly put everything down and ran over, taking a seat next to Eddie, and checking over his face.

Eddie had to kill the smile that was threatening to spill over and push him off, forcing a scowl. "Steve."

"Oh my God, it's the kids, isn't it? What did they do? Is someone in the hospital? In jail? Who do I need to call, I probably still have Owens number, that bastard still owes me a fucking fav--"

"Steve, stop, no! It's not the kids, everything's fine, the kids are fine, I'm physically fine."

His boyfriend paused, catching on immediately, "Physically? So, does that mean you're not mentally fine? Eds, babe, you're scaring me, please tell me what's wrong."

A bemused chuckle escapes Eddie's mouth. Even when trying to prep himself for hearbreak, Steve still managed to charm and delight him. Maybe he's worrying over nothing. Maybe he just jumped to conclusions, like he always does.

"Stevie, I'm sorry. This was a bad way going about this but, you're right. Mentally, I'm kind of mess. Understatement of the century, yeah, yeah but I just...something's been bothering me and I really want to be honest with you and I hope you'll be honest with me."

Steve nods, his hands squeezing Eddie's encouragingly. "Of course, Eds. I always want you to be honest with me, no matter what, even if you think it might be something I don't want to hear."

"Yeah, I know but this isn't really about something you don't want to hear, it's more about what I might not want to hear. But I do want to hear, or at least be told that the thing I don't want to hear isn't true and I just made it up in my head."

Steve reeled back, "Whoa, okay, let's roll it back. I think I need to get a notebook to try to decipher what you're trying to say. Can you repeat that for me please? In maybe smaller sentences?"

Eddie groaned, pulling a hand away to scrub it over his face, "Please just tell what you've been doing at these "study sessions" because I'm scared that you might have found a more interesting person to want to spend your life with and you're slowly trying to distance yourself and gently break up with me!"

He heard a choking sound and when he opened his eyes, Steve was balking back at him.

"Eddie, no! Of course not, I wouldn't do that to you, you know that."

"They why have you been acting all cagey and secretive whenever I ask you what you've been doing once a week? Your classes end at 3, but you always come home around 9! And you don't work today!"

He sees Steve flapping his gums with no sound coming out and the anxious, cold feeling was creeping back up again.

"They're study sessions, they can go pretty long--"

"Not for six hours! Please Steve, just tell me the truth man." Eddie refused to cry and instead pulls his hair over to his mouth and started to chew on the ends.

Neither say a thing, he doesn't think they even breathe, unwilling to be the first to break away from the sudden staring contest.

But Eddie, master of the hard stare, watches Steve squirm, his face contorting into a pained wince until finally he gasps, "Okay! I'll tell you. But...you have to promise not to be mad."

Eddie spits out his hair, "That is NOT the way to get me to do ANYTHING for you. That's a fucking guarantee that I'm gonna be mad. I swear to God, if you're cheating--"

"No! No, Eddie, God, ugh! I would never--you know I wouldn't do that!"

"You're going to have to start talking because I'm pretty sure I'm 5 seconds away from having a panic attack, so just tell me what's going on!"

"I JOINED A D&D GROUP!"

The room once again envelops into silence, this time, however, the temperature drops alongside with the noise.

"You. What."

Steve slowly gets up from the couch, grabs his backpack from the door, opens it, and takes out some folders before placing them in Eddie's lap.

Out of sheer reflex, Eddie opens the file, scanning over the papers like they're confidential documents. And there it was. Character sheets, campaign notes, printed out pages from the D&D handbook about certain class abilities. He even found laminated cards with spells on them.

As he pores over the folder, Eddie tuned back into the conversation.

"There was this guy in my philosophy class and I overeheard he was trying to start up a D&D club of sorts. And I kind of mentioned that I knew some kids who were really into D&D but I never really understood it.

It was more just to make small talk than anything, but he kind of reminded me of Dustin a bit. He jumped at the chance to recruit me or whatever. Said that the group he was DMing for were mostly first time learners, so if I was still interested, he'd leave a spot open for me."

Eddie took some time to process what was being said to him. The fact that Steve was using proper D&D terms was blowing him mind.

"And you joined. Just like that?"

"I mean. Not at first. I wasn't interested when he first brought it up but the more I thought about it, the more I got curious cause, the group he was going to be hosting were people my age. People who were in the same boat as me; heard of the game but never played it before. So I went and sat in for a session 0 and...we kind of hit it off."

Eddie was nodding along, chewing now on his bottom lip. "Ok. I believe you. Just one question."

"Sure."

".......is he a better DM that me?"

Steve groaned, head falling back onto the couch, "Oh my God."

He didn't relent, smacking Steve's shoulder with the papers, "Don't give me that, tell me the truth, is he a better DM than me?"

"This is why I didn't want to tell you, I knew you were going to become weirdly jealous about this."

"Obviously! I've been begging you to play for years! What's this guy got that I ain't got, huh?! Are his storylines better-paced? Are his NPCs more interesting?" He gasps, "Are his plot twists more devious than mine?!"

This time it was Steve's turn to scrub his face with his hands, "No! Brendan is just--"

"Oh, so the homewrecker has a name! Fucking Brendan!"

Steve started to laugh helplessly and pulls on Eddie's shirt for a hug. Eddie wasn't going to make it easy, smacking him again with his folder, though his energy was lacking. "Get off me, you floozy. No hugs for philandering miscreants, go sleep at Brendan's house."

After a feeble struggle, hIs body finally gave out, slumping onto Steve's shoulder. Steve huffed an amused sigh, "Never. He lives in an apartment with 3 other dudes, we'd never get any privacy."

Eddie pinches his arm.

"Ow, ow! I'm kidding! Uncle!"

The pinching turns into a tickle fight which turns into a pillow fight where they both end up in their bed, panting, sweaty, but giggling between kisses.

Eddie pulls back, putting a hand on Steve's mouth to stop him from taking another kiss, "I really do need to know, Stevie. Why wait till now? With...fucking Brendan?"

Just because Eddie stopped him from kissing his mouth doesn't stop Steve from kissing him completely, more than willing to kiss the palm of his hand instead. He grins, puckish and not at all sorry.

"I promise, it has nothing to do with your ability to DM. You're an amazing storyteller, Eddie. But I guess...sometimes I sit in on a Hellfire game and I try hard to follow along but everything goes by so quickly. Since you all know how the rules and mechanics work, you can't exactly stop to explain every detail. That would mess up the flow of the campaign.

Brendans game isn't like that. It's slower. A lot slower. And the stakes aren't as high because we're all a bunch of newbie punks still getting the hang of figuring out the difference between an action and a bonus action.

And I was planning to tell you. I just wanted to get more experience before I did so I wouldn't look dumb in front of you and the kids. It was going to be a surprise."

Eddie makes a wounded noise but Steve shakes his head, "No, don't feel bad, I should have been more upfront about all this. I hate that I made you feel insecure about us just because I was worried about looking dumb. I really am sorry about that, baby."

The silence that envelops them for the third time that night is a comfort, their steady breathing creating an odd sort of lullaby.

"I'm sorry too," Eddie whispered. At Steve's confused look, he added, "I shouldn't have waited so long to tell you how I was feeling." He paused and then rolled his eyes, "And I'm sorry for calling Brendan a homewrecker. I still hate him though."

Steve snorted, "You don't even know him."

"It's the principle, sweetheart. Fine, I won't hate him but I reserve my right to judge him harshly when we meet and then give my final verdict after. I mean. If you want. I won't pressure you or anything. I'm curious to see you in action, so to speak. But this is your thing. You deserve to have your thing."

Steve gathered Eddie up against his body and smiled into his hair, "It is. But I really do hope it can be our thing someday. And yeah, I'll ask if you can sit in on a session. Just promise not to backseat drive the DM, ok?"

"Pshh, I would never, that's improper D&D etiquette, Steven."

"Oh yeah? Then how come you kept rule lawyering Dustin the last time we went back to Hawkins?"

"Alright, just letting you know, you using D&D terms correctly is really doing it for me, keep that up, please and thank you," Eddie nips at Steve's earlobe, enjoying the shudder that runs through his body.

"As for me rule lawyering Dustin, It's simple. I did it for the bit."

Steve laughs into Eddie's hair who in turn laughs into his neck. They don't bother putting on their pajamas or brushing their teeth, too comfortable to get up to even have a late dinner, resigning to have cold Chinese takeout for breakfast.

Just as sleep overtakes them, Eddie has one last request.

"Please let me be the one to break the news to Dustin. Kid's gonna flip his shit."

[solarmorrigan]

Under My Skin - Stranger Things - steddie

[Ao3]

In spite of the extensive skincare regimen that Steve will not admit to having, the fight with Jonathan Byers leaves its marks.

The cut on his lip heals no problem, and the bridge of his nose is left without much more than a faint line, easily dismissed. The split on his left cheekbone, though – that one sticks. It probably doesn’t help that he’d never sought proper medical attention after that fight, had never had any of the cuts or bruises properly seen to (he’d been considering going to a doctor once he finished cleaning up his mess, but then an interdimensional monster had dropped out of the ceiling of the Byers’ living room and Steve had kind of forgotten everything else).

It’s not the world’s worst scar, just a little starburst of shiny skin stuck in just on the far side of the apple of his cheek, but it’s enough to make Steve frown whenever he catches it in the mirror. His looks are his best asset, he’s always been told; hell, aside from athletics, he’s been informed that his looks are pretty much his only asset, so it really won’t do to be messing them up.

Keep reading

[ghosttotheparty]

love me softly p22

part 21

Eddie wakes up to Steve tracing lines across the side of his neck.

He smiles into the pillow, reaching out blindly to find him, and when he grabs at his waist he pulls him closer, mumbling, “C’mere.”

Steve rolls on top of him and their legs tangle as Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s bare waist. His skin is almost hot, warm from sleep and blankets. Steve’s chin rests on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie can feel him gazing at him, and he suppresses a smile.

“Bed head,” Steve says fondly. His voice is rough. Eddie hums.

Steve traces the spider on Eddie’s chest slowly, the body, then the legs, and then he kisses it. Eddie sighs, sliding a hand under the waistband of his boxers to squeeze his hip.

“I was thinking,” Steve says quietly.

“Mm. Sounds dangerous.”

Steve pinches Eddie’s nipple, and Eddie giggles, grabbing his hand to push it away.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, holding Steve’s hand to himself after a moment. Steve is quiet, his chin back on Eddie’s chest, just over his heart.

“…I don’t care if people know.”

Eddie slowly opens his eyes, blinking at the ceiling for a moment before his eyes find Steve. Steve is gazing at him, his chin squished so his lips are pouting.

“Explain?” Eddie says softly.

“I mean…” Steve exhales, looking back at the spider and tracing it again as Eddie pushes his hair back, running his fingers over the side of his head. “I don’t think we should, like, make out in the hallways and stuff, but I…” His lips shift thoughtfully, still pouting. “I like wearing your clothes. And I like, like, leaning against you and laying on your shoulder. And holding your hand. And I miss it at school.”

Eddie listens intently, running his fingers through Steve’s hair, thinking.

“…You know people will talk,” he says quietly. Steve shrugs weakly.

“People will always talk,” he says. “People already talk.”

“They’ll call you things.”

Another shrug.

“Whatever they call me…” Steve frowns a little bit, his eyes trained on Eddie’s. “I’ll make it mine. Like you.”

“Jesus,” Eddie sighs, blinking and letting his head fall to look up at the ceiling. He scratches his fingertips across Steve’s scalp.

“We don’t have to,” Steve says, misunderstanding. “We can— We can keep our distance, I don’t mind, I just…”

“No, baby, it’s just—”

He sighs again, looking down at him.

“They’re gonna give you so much shit, Stevie, shit that you don’t— you don’t deserve.”

“You don’t deserve it either,” Steve says. “Or Gareth, or your friends, or— or anyone that people are assholes to for no reason.”

“I know, but…” He touches Steve, tracing the moles on his cheek. “They’re probably gonna call you stuff. And harass you, and call you—”

“I know, Eddie,” Steve murmurs. “I’ve thought about it. I think about it every time I see you in the hallways because I wanna… push you against the lockers and kiss you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Eddie can’t suppress a grin, and Steve smiles up at him.

“I won’t do that, though,” Steve says.

“You can do it when we get home.”

Steve nods against his chest.

“So what do you think?” he says after a moment. Eddie gazes at him for a moment, tucking his hair back.

“Just… I want you to know what you’re getting into.”

“I do.”

“It might be dangerous, Stevie.”

“I know,” Steve murmurs. “I’ve thought about it.”

Eddie gazes, tracing a line across his forehead.

“We don’t have to be super obvious,” Steve says softly. “I just wanna be able to touch you. Just… Your hand. Or, like, leaning against you. I feel like I’m dying every time I see you and I have to just look at you like we’re buddies.”

Eddie smiles softly, touching his face. There’s a line on his cheek from the pillow.

“We can let them all wonder,” Steve says quietly. “And then… we’ll run away together. Get married ’nd shit.”

Eddie’s eyes burn. He blinks them, looking up at the ceiling and listening to Steve giggle softly, biting his lip to suppress a smile.

“Jesus, I love you.”

“‘S nice,” Steve whispers, tilting his head to press a kiss to Eddie’s chest. He reaches up to wipe a tear for Eddie, leaving his hand up to twist in Eddie’s tangled curls. Eddie takes a deep breath, blinking tears back, focusing on the weight on Steve on top of him, the pressure of his head on his chest, the feeling of their skin touching.

He hesitates after a few moments, furrowing his brows.

“What if… What if your parents hear about us? Somehow?”

Steve’s eyes skim over Eddie’s face, his fingertips untangling a snag in Eddie’s hair.

“I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t really care.”

“Stevie.”

“I don’t, Eddie. They barely know me anyway. I already wanna leave home as soon as I can. Kinda wanna, like, cut them off eventually.” He looks soft, like he might cry, but his voice is strong. “I don’t care if they know.”

“If they…” Eddie pauses to collect himself, realising his hands are shaking. He holds Steve’s head, touching the buzzed hair. “If they do anything. If they find out, or— or you think they know or that they’ll find out, and you— you feel unsafe at all, you come to mine and Wayne’s.”

“I know,” Steve says with a small smile.

“Or Tommy’s if his dad isn’t home, or— or Gareth’s.”

“I know, Eddie.”

Eddie exhales, staring for a moment before he sits up, pushing Steve to sit across from him, their legs around each other. Steve glances down at himself, at his stomach, insecure, so Eddie moves closer and slides his hand across his belly, over the soft rolls, and he leans close to kiss him. It’s a soft, slow kiss, and Steve’s hands find Eddie’s shoulders, pulling his hair back to touch his neck as Eddie’s fingers press into his flesh.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks when they part.

“Yes.”

Eddie exhales, nudging their noses together.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says again, nodding, smiling. Steve leans closer, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck and pulling him in tightly as Eddie slides his hands over his back firmly, down his spine to the waist and of his boxers and back to the nape of his neck.

They stay there for a while, just holding each other, face in each other’s necks, rocking back and forth a little bit without even really noticing, until Steve whispers, “Will you take a shower with me?”

“Is that a serious question?”

Steve giggles.

When Gareth and Tommy arrive, Steve’s hair is carefully styled with products that keep it silky smooth. Eddie’s hair smells like the same products, and he still feels weak in the knees from letting Steve run his fingers through his wet curls, scrunching them and twisting them around his fingers to form perfect ringlets.

Gareth and Tommy promptly ruin Steve’s hair by manhandling his head to see the shaved sides, simultaneously rubbing the sides of his head roughly and making him giggle.

They brought pizza.

Eddie brought weed.

Steve comments that maybe weed isn’t a great idea as he pulls Poltergeist out and holds it up for Eddie to see, but it doesn’t stop them. They all sit on the floor together, Steve leaning against Eddie’s chest between his legs, the others leaning against the sofa. Tommy and Gareth share a joint between them. Eddie and Steve share one, but Steve stays bundled under a blanket when he finishes his pizza, and Eddie just holds the joint down to his lips for him.

Tommy gets up to put another movie on when the first one ends because Steve refuses to get up. Steve falls asleep halfway through it.

Gareth lets his head fall to Eddie’s shoulder as they watch, smiling as he watches Eddie comb through Steve’s hair and rest his cheek on the top of his head. Tommy moves to lay his head on Gareth’s lap. (Gareth covers his eyes with a hand and has to stifle a laugh as Tommy reaches up to smack at his face, calling him an asshole.) Tommy falls asleep next, taking steady breaths, his shoulder rising and falling.

“I’m really happy,” Eddie murmurs to Gareth after a while, sounding sleepy. His eyes are trained on the television, his fingers tracing Steve’s knuckles as Steve holds onto his forearm that’s gentle across his chest.

Gareth sighs, nuzzling against his shoulder before he lifts his head and smacks a soft kiss to his temple, making him squeeze his eyes shut with a bright smile.

“I’m glad you are,” Gareth says as he’s laying his head back down. “I am too.”

—————————

The summer between Steve’s junior and senior years, he and Eddie go to Indianapolis to get away from Hawkins for a few days. They drag Tommy and Gareth along.

As they’re walking down a sidewalk, laughing and jabbing at each other, Steve lingers at the window of a piercing and tattoo shop, and Eddie stops, watching the way he gazes inside, eyeing the posters and photos.

They go inside.

They spend too long chatting with the people that work there, browsing the flash sheets on the walls and the displayed jewellery, until they all make their decisions.

Tommy doesn’t get anything, just because it’s not his style. (Though Gareth won’t stop teasing that he’s just scared, mouthing pussy at him across the shop.)

Gareth gets a septum piercing after much contemplation. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly as the piercer holds the needle up, and then after it’s done, he promptly says, “That actually wasn’t that bad,” even though his eyes are watering.

“You’re crying,” Tommy says, leaning against a nearby shelf and watching intently, curiously.

“It’s a natural reaction, Tommy,” Gareth says sassily as the piercer chuckles, putting the jewellery in in place of the needle. “You ever get punched in the nose?”

“No.”

“How’d you like to be?”

Tommy just cackles.

Eddie gets his right ear lobe pierced. It’s just a black stud for now, but he keeps eyeing the piercer’s gauges, the small black tunnels through his ear lobes.

Steve gets his left eyebrow pierced. Eddie already has the polaroid camera out of his bag, waiting, and as the piercer moves away to pick up the jewellery, Steve turns to look at him. His left eye is squeezed shut because the piercing is bleeding, bright red on his golden skin, the needle straight through his brow. Eddie lifts the camera without hesitation, and Steve lifts a hand in a lazy rock-on gesture.

(Eddie keeps the photo in his wallet, occasionally just opening it to gaze at him, at the smile just teasing at his lips, at his soft arms that are exposed because he’s wearing one of Eddie’s old Megadeath shirts, the sleeves cut off to battle the summer heat. The man of Eddie’s dreams.)

Eddie wipes the blood away for him after the jewellery is in place, and Steve tugs him into a chaste kiss.

Steve insists on paying for all three piercings, with the explanation of, “If my parents found out I’m using their hard-earned money for body modifications they’d lose their shit, so…” and a wink. Eddie just says, “I’m in love with you,” and the cashier laughs softly as Tommy and Gareth groan obnoxiously.

Eddie and Steve go back to the same shop before summer is over. Steve gets his septum pierced because he really liked Gareth’s, and Eddie holds his hand as he gets it done, laughing when Steve’s hand clenches and Steve lets out a gasp.

“Gareth is a fucking liar,” Steve says firmly as the piercer changes the needle for the nose ring. “Holy shit.”

Steve holds his hand as Eddie kicks his feet in anticipation as the piercer cleans the bridge of his nose, just between his eyes.

“This may be a horrible idea,” Eddie says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Why’s that?” Steve asks, running his thumb over his knuckles.

“I really hate needles.”

Steve and piercer laugh, and piercer, a young woman with a buzzcut, tells him he can change his mind.

“Gareth would never let me live it down,” he says. “Let’s do this, stick me.”

“Alright,” she says, squeezing the bridge of his nose with the clamp and lining the needle up. His hand squeezes Steve’s so tightly it hurts. “On three. One—”

“Fuck you,” Eddie complains when she pierces him before three. She just laughs.

Steve pays again. He tells Eddie he wants to get his tongue done next, and Eddie sighs heavily like he’s annoyed before he tugs him into an alleyway and kisses him silly.

Come August, nobody in town really recognizes Steve. He gets the same stares Eddie gets as he walks down the street, the same squinted eyes and furrowed eyebrows and judging, wrinkled noses. He gets the same glares from parents as they turn their children around. Don’t stare, they say, even as they stare over their shoulders. And Steve realises everything about Eddie and his behaviour makes sense, because when an old man stares him down for more than a full minute, all Steve can think to do is stick his tongue out and hiss at him. The man looks away haughtily, huffing and turning red, and Steve just giggles to himself.

On the first day of school, he wears one of Eddie’s shirts that he’s stolen. A black t-shirt Eddie made Steve paint with bleach, leaving the soft, worn fabric stained red in a careful spider web across the chest. He’s wearing one of Eddie’s rings, and he fidgets with it during classes, rubs his fingers over it until the metal is warm as he tries to pay attention.

The teacher takes attendance silently, looking up around the room and checking off names, until she stops and asks, “Is Steve Harrington here?”

He raises his hand and says, “Here,” and then has to lower his head to hide his smile. Because the students around him look toward him at the sound of his voice, wide-eyed and already spinning rumours and theories around in their minds, rumours and theories that make their way to open air by the next day.

Steve Harrington’s been corrupted. He’s been dethroned, manipulated, possessed. It was Eddie Munson’s fault. Look at them. Listen to them. He called him Stevie. He’s holding his hand. What the fuck are they doing? What happened to Steve? What happened to the king? Where did he go?

Did you hear?

King Steve and the Freak.

Steve ignores them all as he leans against Eddie in the cafeteria, laughing at something Gareth says. He ignores them all as Eddie laughs into his hair, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him closer, as Eddie’s fingers run across the side of his head, over his buzzed hair. He ignores them all as he throws a fry at Tommy, who catches it in his mouth and high-fives Gareth.

Because after school he gets to go home to Eddie’s trailer and kiss Eddie’s lips and cheeks and neck, and he gets to fall asleep to the sound of Eddie’s heartbeat. Nobody else gets that. Nobody else gets to see that. (Except Gareth and Tommy and Wayne on the occasions that Steve gets sleepy around them and leans against Eddie instinctively.)

They never confirm the rumours, even when Steve’s old friends corner him in the hallway with accusations of Satanism and rituals and Eddie brainwashing him. We’re worried about you, man. What did he do to you? Steve just glares at them, almost sneering at the faux concern in their eyes, at their gentleness after he saw them trip a little freshman in the hallway this morning.

You guys are fucking idiots.

He pushes past them without a second glance, ignoring their increasingly angry Steve!s that turn into Harrington!s that make his blood run cold. He just goes to meet Eddie at his van and says, “Wanna go home.”

When one of Steve’s old friends tells him, “Man, I don’t even recognise you anymore,” Steve has to fight a smile off, and he takes a breath before he says lightly, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“What, am I in trouble?”

Drew scoffs.

“Dude, what’s going on with you?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at Steve, who seeths. “You’re so…”

“What?” Steve says coldly. “Weird?”

“Yeah. What’s going on with you?” Drew says, shrugging a little bit, and Steve’s jaw twitches as he takes a breath.

“Nothing,” he says evenly. “There is nothing going on with me. You just hate that I’m not exactly like you anymore.”

Drew scoffs.

“So, what, you’re like them?”

“Yes,” Steve says, his hands shaking. “I’m like them. And I’d rather be like them, or anyone fucking else, than like you.”

“You’re fucking pathetic, Steve.”

Steve nods, unblinking.

“I mean, you…” Drew shakes his head in disappointment. “You were the king, man. And then you started hanging out with Eddie fucking Munson.”

The sound of his name in Drew’s mouth makes Steve feel sick with anger.

“And everyone’s trying to figure out what that fag did to you, but—”

Steve has him pinned to the wall before he can even process it, his fist tight on the front of Drew’s shirt, his heart pounding his chest. Drew is wide-eyed, startled, breathing hard as Steve speaks in a quiet, even voice.

“You keep your fucking mouth shut about him,” he says softly. “‘Kay?”

Drew stares back at him, and he nods when Steve raises his eyebrows.

Steve shoves him against the wall harder before he releases him and leaves. Eddie is in the parking lot, leaning against his van, waiting for Steve when he comes out of the school, and even though there are still others standing around the parking lot, talking and laughing with their friends, Steve steps up close and wraps his arms around him tightly.

Eddie hugs him back even though he’s confused, tucking his face into Steve’s neck.

“What’s going on?”

Steve can feel the others eyeing them, but he doesn’t care. No one can hear them murmuring to each other.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.”

Steve pulls away after a few moments, standing in front of Eddie and hesitating.

“What happened?” Eddie asks softly, dropping his hands and pushing them into his pockets. Steve bites his lip, gazing at him.

“I’ll tell you later,” he says quietly.

Eddie nods.

Steve hesitates for a second before he leans in, tilting his head, and he kisses Eddie’s cheek lightly, chastely.

Eddie’s face flushes pink, and he suppresses a smile, hearing a soft voice behind them say Did he just…

“You really don’t give a shit, do you?” Eddie asks, amused, and Steve shakes his head.

“I am so tired of caring. ‘M done.”

Eddie tilts his head at him like he’s adorable, and then he reaches out and pulls at Steve’s hand.

“‘S go home.”

Steve keeps his hand on Eddie’s thigh as they drive home, and at red lights, Eddie reaches over to run his fingers over the side of his head, dragging his fingertips over his buzzed hair in the way that always makes him close his eyes and sigh.

Rumours about the kiss spread around the school by the next morning.

Did you hear that Harrington kissed Munson?

What?

Yeah, they made out in the parking lot.

They didn’t make out, Steve kissed his cheek.

I didn’t know he was queer. I mean, I knew Munson was, but Steve Harrington…

Steve ignores the stares he gets in the hallway, the way they’ve intensified. Some are malicious, but there’s a heavy ring on Steve’s index finger that could cause some damage if he had to throw a punch. When he’s asked about it (Are you queer? Are you with Munson?) he just stares at the questioner blankly until they leave. Eddie finds it hilarious every time.

Steve stays at Eddie’s more often than not. Wayne gets used to finding him in the kitchen in the morning, and the first time he ruffles his hair the way he does Eddie’s, Steve almost cries. (He and Steve take their coffee the same way, and they both tease Eddie for how much sugar he takes.)

The first time Steve hugs Wayne, it’s when he comes over to find one of his own paintings hanging on the wall above the sofa. He’d given the painting to Eddie last time he was over.

It’s a colourful, messy painting, the paint smooth and smudgy and almost smokey. He did it on his bedroom floor, kneeling on top of a blue tarp his father used to use to cover his car, his left hand clutching a bundle of paintbrushes, humming along to a mixtape Eddie made for him.

Steve had expected the painting to be in Eddie’s room, maybe resting against his mirror or propped against his windowsill, but it’s the first thing he sees when he walks into the trailer. There’s a hammer and nails still on the table.

“Oh,” he says.

“Is it straight?” Wayne asks, stepping out of the kitchen and setting a mug down on the table, looking at the painting. “I tried to get it straight but I can’t tell if I did it right. Eds is better with handy stuff like that.”

Eddie is at Hellfire. Steve came over anyway just because.

“It looks good,” he says weakly. His voice cracks. Wayne looks at him.

“You alright?” he asks gently. He’s always gentle. Steve sometimes wonders if Eddie’s told him about him, about his parents, the drinking. But part of him also thinks it’s just how Wayne is. Always gentle, kind, slow and patient. He’s always making tea.

“I’ve, uhm.” Steve clears his throat, sniffling. “All my paintings are on the floor in my closet,” he says, because he doesn’t know how else to explain everything he’s feeling.

Wayne just looks at him.

“Well that’s not where they belong, is it?” he says lightly after a moment, looking back at the painting. “You wanna bring any more, I can get Eds to put them up straight on the walls. Bring some colour in here.” He doesn’t see Steve squeeze his eyes shut. “He’ll probably make some joke about putting them up straight, though.”

Steve laughs wetly, nodding. He definitely would.

“You alright?” Wayne asks again as Steve is wiping his face. Steve nods.

And then he can’t stop himself from stepping over and hugging Wayne tightly, squeezing his eyes shut as Wayne hugs him back carefully. He takes a gasping breath, still trying not to cry, but Wayne rubs his back and murmurs a soft, “You’re alright, son.”

And then he’s sobbing. Son. He’s never been called that before. Wayne sways with him in his arms, rubbing his back, whispering to him, waiting until he pulls himself together.

“Sorry,” Steve says weakly as he starts to pull away, but Wayne tsks at him, shaking his head and wiping his tears away with his warm, rough, callused hands.

“You don’t gotta apologise, Steve,” Wayne says gently. “‘S alright to cry.”

When Eddie comes home, Wayne and Steve are both on the sofa watching a baseball game. Steve is wearing Eddie’s clothes, some black sweatpants and a heavy sweater that used to be Wayne’s, and Eddie pauses in the doorway just to look at them.

Steve drifts off as he’s listening to Eddie’s heartbeat. His eyes are closed, the baseball game turning into quiet white noise behind him, and as he’s starting to drift he hears Eddie say quietly, “We’re gonna run away together someday.”

“Are you?” Wayne says. Steve can hear his smile in his voice. Eddie’s fingers run across his shaved hair.

“Mhmm.”

“Where to?”

“Steve says maybe San Francisco,” Eddie says, smiling. His voice is rumbling in his chest. “We’ll see.”

“Send me a postcard, will you?”

“‘Course. We’ll send you some of Stevie’s art.”

“That’a be nice,” Wayne says. “Was talking to Steve about his painting. Said he can bring us more if he wants. Get some colour in here.”

“All your damn mugs aren’t enough colour for you?” Eddie teases.

“Steve likes the mugs.”

“‘S true.”

Eddie is still playing with Steve’s hair, his fingertips so gentle it’s like a lullaby. That with his heartbeat against Steve’s cheek.

“I really love him, Uncle Wayne.”

“I can tell, Eds.” Wayne is quiet for a moment. “I love him, too.”

Eddie shifts, falling to the side a little bit, and Steve falls with him, nuzzling into his chest as he settles, his hands tucked under his chin, legs drawn up across Eddie’s lap. He knows without looking that Eddie is leaning against Wayne.

Steve sighs. Eddie kisses the top of his head, and when he speaks again, Steve is too tired to understand him. He doesn’t try to, instead listening to the rumble of his voice, of Wayne’s voice when he responds. If he was awake enough, he would say it back. If he was awake enough, he would probably cry again. But Eddie’s fingertips are dragging through his hair, and his voice is smooth and low, and his heartbeat is steady, right against Steve’s face.

Steve falls asleep.

read the whole thing on ao3 tagging: @thehumblefigtree @cr0w-culture @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @bestwifehaver <3 comment to be tagged in the epilogue :)

[wrecked-fuse]

Steve and Eddie are having picnic in the woods

🔪🔪🔪 в вк не репостить🔪🔪🔪  

[resande]

Progress wip.

Apocalyptic au.

[schnuckiputz]

it takes a while, but one day, after the kids have graduated, eddie and steve pack their most precious things into eddie's van, and they leave. for months, they just drive from city to city, from state to state, go wherever it takes their fancy. until they find a little town surrounded by age-old trees and mountains, with unpredictable weather and more rain and fog than sunshine. but the pacific ocean isn't far, and if they leave early in the day, they can spend a few hours in san francisco's queer neighborhoods.

the town has a little old diner that's a bit run down but has good bones. so, steve and eddie combine their powers: steve knows how to take care of customers, has one of his nonnas old books with delicious cake recipes, and knows how to use it. eddie is a god in the kitchen and knows how to make money stretch. they are both charming, so pretty soon they have a few regulars and a steady stream of patrons.

included, are a group of high schoolers. and neither eddie nor steve know what happened to these kids, but they recognize the looks in their eyes. and they just can't help themselves, both like taking care of people a little bit too much, so they basically adopt this group of little ducklings, offer their time and ears in the hope of making the lives of these kids a little easier.

but the longer they stay, the more the town starts to feel a little...strange. there is something unsettling about the way the woods creak at night, how the shadows stretch at night. sometimes, after locking up the diner, steve lingers by the stairs that go up to their apartment and stares into the woods, and he knows something is looking back.

it comes to head a few months later. the ducklings stayed late at the diner, late enough that it's just them, when the thing that kept its eyes on steve steps out of the forest. for a second, everyone just stills before the kids spring into action. trying to barricade the diner doors.

steve and edddie share a resigned look, a touch, then separate. eddie goes for the high proof alcohol they keep in the kitchen, making molotov cocktails. steve gets the bat from under the counter. it's not the original, but mark ii is sturdier, a little bit deadlier. he tests his swing once, twice, then steps into the way of the first thing the crashes through a window and bats it right back out.

afterward, the diner is a burnt out shell, but everyone is alive. the kids are a little worse for wear, but steve knows this was probably not their first or second rodeo. steve and eddie keep the kids in sight but step around the van a little for some light thank-fuck-we-survived pda.

that's when a bunch of government cars arrive and out steps none other than owens. owens prioritizes the kids at first before movement catches his eyes. he stops, stares and then makes the kids loose their minds when he greets steve and eddie by name.

steve just pinches his nose and sighs. they should have known.

[corrodedcoughin]

Steve buying eddie claw clips for his hair because regular hair ties were giving him tension headaches. When Eddie gets the clip he grabs it from Steve and immediately starts using it as a puppet to either tell Steve he loves him or ‘attack’ which is actually the claw clip ‘kissing’ Steve

The claw clip gets taken down from Eddie’s hair at random moments to ‘talk’. Most famous appearances include 1) at hellfire as an npc who is now equally loved and hated 2) at family video where the claw told a particular loud and rude customer to ‘suck a phallus’ and 3) when eddie was high with argyle and Jonathon and they thought the claw had predicted their deaths. Robin, Nancy and Steve came to pick them up and had to spend half an hour consoling them all

[steves-sunglassess]

eddie: we're part of the 'in love with people who are most definitely straight' club!

robin: yes we are, eddie, yes we are.

steve: we've talked about this guys, im bi-

robin: by yourself! it's okay, steve-o. we're all single.

nancy: no, but we're bi-

eddie: by yourself. we know guys, it's okay.

robin: of course, we'd let you join our club...

eddie: but, it doesn't really apply to you.

steve: that's why we made our own club.

nancy: it's called the 'in love with people who are the farthest thing from straight' club.

robin: that really has a ring to it, doesn't it, eddie?

eddie: it does!

steve & nancy: *facepalm*

[princessdave]

Steve: neither of them will shut up long enough for us to talk, so we need to show them. I know what I need to do

Nancy: what?

Steve: I need to kiss Jonathan

Jonathan: what?!

Argyle: makes total sense, bro. kissing Jonathan solves my problems too

Jonathan: aww…. but wait, no!

Nancy: that’ll work for you, but what do I do?

Steve: what girls do we know?

Argyle: Joyce is chill

Jonathan: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

[rosynov]

it’s a horribly normal sunday afternoon when everything changes between steve and eddie.

they’re in eddie’s van, windows down and hair flying, rays of a new spring sun warming their winter chilled skin as their arms dangle outside the open windows. some band that steve is sure he’s never heard of is playing loudly though the speakers and eddie looks over at steve with a grin.

the sun gives him a halo like it belongs there, the wind in his curls breaking up the beams to make it look like he’s flying, like hermes or apollo or some other greek god steve cant name while he’s enraptured with the view. eddie's smile crooks up, something mischievous, and he reaches down to grab a tape out of his collection.

“you know what we need?” eddie asks and steve holds his tongue to stop from saying something stupid like 'you'.

the music changes and it’s familiar and loud and, oh no. the crooning first notes of 'somebody to love' cuts into his heart in a way he never expected queen to. he feels like he’s bleeding out, watching eddie’s smile shift and change, playful and wide, and it breaks him. his face crumbles and morphs into something mean, trying to protect the remnants of his guard from crumbling along with it like ancient remains.

"turn that shit off." and steve’s always been a bit of a bitch, eager to fight with bared teeth and bleeding knuckles, but it's never been towards eddie. eddie with his halo of sun and eyes full of warmth and that smile that makes steve feel like he can fly. "now."

eddie scrambles. his hand darts out and fiddles with the volume knob, his smile cracking along the edges and getting soft and worried and steve is made only of anger, boiling over in a tirade. he keeps talking, barely processing what he's saying, but he sees it hurt eddie and that feels right and so fucking wrong all at the same time.

"who told you," he seethes out, hisses through his teeth like a goddamn snake. "it's all just a rumor so don't think for one second that it's true-''

the only person steve has even told is robin, one drunken night with their friends jack and captain morgan, secrets spilling out from them faster than they can make a new drink. he let it slip that he likes queen, relates to queen, and robin cocked her head in that sickeningly endearing way she does, cartoon lightbulb clicking on above her head.

"steve," she whispered, hand reaching out to cover his knee. it was a moment of surprising sobriety when their eyes met and steve felt something click into place for him, too.

"it's okay to be like freddie, right?" his voice was soft, broken and strained, watery smile covering up what little vulnerability he had left.

they danced until sunrise with queen blasting through the way too extravagant speaker system in the living room, screaming lyrics about not wanting to be born at all and asking for someone to find them somebody. they fell into a pile all breathless and dizzy and the relief that flooded steve's system was enough that he could drift into a deep sleep for the first time in a long time.

but now that memory feels tainted, destroyed, because he only told robin and that means she must have told eddie about being like freddie because no one else knew and he thought that robin was the one person he could trust but that seems not real anymore but it's robin and that is the only person who has stuck around but now there's eddie in the back of his mind grinning and that bleeds into him laughing which bleeds into him laughing at steve, turning on a song to let him know he's laughing at him for being like freddie, for being wrong, being wrong, being wrong-

"steve..."

"-it's not even true, anyone can like queen without being a fucking queer, you know? plenty of people like them and are happily married with their 2.5 kids and a goddamn picket fence-"

steve's still ranting when eddie pulls to the side of the road, gravel crunching under the tires, eyes soft and careful as they look over steve. his face feels hot and pinched with his vision blurred from unshed tears that he'll be damned to let fall. his hands are flying around aimlessly in the air as he spits out lie after lie, watching eddie sit and take it unflinchingly.

"steve," he says after a minute of listening, a gentle hand on his knee that steve wants to throw off of him, eager for something tangible to destroy. "stop for a second, please."

he wishes he could but his brain won't let him, so he pauses for a second and catches his breath before starting again and ignoring the way eddie rolls his eyes in disappointment. he rants and he vents and hurls harsh word after word until he can see that eddie's had enough. he wants to keep going, yelling until his throat is as raw as his heart feels, but there are arms wrapping around him and holding him intact so he doesn't fall apart all over the floormats.

"you're okay," steve registers what eddie's saying after a beat or two. he's whispering low into his ear in a repetitive mantra, over and over and over. "you're okay, it's okay. breathe."

it's only after they're both breathing normally that he pulls away.

"what was that about," eddie asks, and it's not accusatory but steve can't help but shy away from the easy way he's looking at him. the tears he had been so good about holding back fall down his cheeks, disloyal soldiers admitting defeat.

"i just-," he breathes out as he keeps his eyes trained to the gear shift. "i thought you knew something about... me."

he hears eddie sigh and steve latches onto it like it's a ray of sun in and of itself. "i know a lot of things about you, steve."

"yeah, but you can't know this one. not yet"

there's fingers tangling into his own and they feel nothing like nancy's or robin's or tracy's or melissa's or heather's and he relishes the calluses that bump into his own. steve doesn't want to look up, he can't look up, but he's a vine and eddie's the sun and he has to face him like it's his life's purpose to do so.

the halo is back around eddie's head again when he finally looks.

"i can wait, if you want me to."

[hairmetal666]

Steve and Eddie don't like each other at first. Or, no, that's not quite right. They're still bonded from everything. They're friends, sort of, but they don't spend time together outside the group, have trouble talking one-on-one.

Steve doesn't think about it much. So, he and Eddie won't ever be real friends, okay. He's a little disappointed, but mostly he doesn't understand how he feels about the other guy. He's always anxious when Eddie's around, clumsy and stuttering, infected with Robin's tendency to nervous chatter. It doesn't make sense. It's just Eddie. But that's the thing. It's Eddie and Steve doesn't know how to act around him.

And Eddie? Well, he spends a lot of time avoiding Steve because the fucking cascade of butterflies he gets every time Harrington is around. He knows what it means, knows even he isn't immune to the Harrington charm, but he needs to be. He needs to keep his heart safe. So, he keeps his distance because Steve Harrington is not for him and never will be.

It changes during movie nights. First it's teasing Dustin and Mike, mocking whatever horrible movie the kids put on, and then it's inside jokes, and playful bickering, and evenings with just the two of them drinking beer and sharing joints.

Then it's August. It's too hot everywhere and Steve's parents are home, so they're in Steve's car, driving with no destination, a couple joints in Eddie's jacket pocket and a six-pack in the trunk. They're listening to a mixtape Eddie made Steve, a bunch of metal. Steve still doesn't get it but there are a couple of songs he enjoys. Rainbow in the Dark starts--this is one Steve likes, reminds him of Eddie and not just because it's Dio. Sun filters through foliage and into the car windows, backlighting Eddie's curls like he's some kind of deity, beautiful and ethereal, not part of this world.

Steve starts singing along to the music, can't help himself. His friend throws him a beaming smile, big enough that Steve thinks his heart stops. He smiles back. He and Eddie sing the rest of the song together, and Steve is...he's content. He's happy. He hasn't felt this way since--well fuck--since 1983. Their eyes meet again, gazes linger, warmth pools in Steve's chest and low in his stomach.

Oh. He thinks. That's what this is. It settles something inside him, the knowing.

Time passes, they get closer, share a bed most nights. Doesn't matter where as long as they're together. Sleep better this way, both of them.

They're at the trailer when it happens, sharing a joint, loosely tucked against each other in bed.

"I've never had a friend like you," Eddie says. His eyes stay fixed on the smoke he exhaled. "I know you and Robin are--like, I get it. But you're--for me--"

"Yeah," Steve agrees. He flushes from his chest to forehead. "For me too."

It's enough, they both think. They're standing on the edge of more have been for months, but this? This is good. There's no need to push, to force. They're hurt, Steve thinks. They're healing. And they have time.

Corroded Coffin plays their first show back at the Hideout in December. Steve's never seen Eddie like this, performing. His shirt is cropped and artfully torn, his jeans more rip than pants. He's wearing eyeliner and his hair is wild. And the way he moves, sinuous and sleek, hips thrusting in a tantalizing rhythm as he shreds on the guitar. Steve wants so badly he feels it in his teeth.

He finds Eddie smoking behind the Hideout after the set. His eye are too bright, his smile manic, the adrenaline keying him up to the highest setting of Eddie. Steve knows he matches the energy, can't help it.

Eddie throws himself into Steve's arms, wrapping around him tight enough that no space lingers. The musician presses his face into Steve's neck, nuzzling, lips pressing against his pulse point. They touch always, share a bed and cuddle, but never like this; nothing like this. Steve pulls Eddie closer, and groans at the mutual swivel of their hips.

Eddie's breath comes in panting bursts, and Steve thinks, "here it is, finally, finally," but the door next to them bangs open and they jump apart at the noise.

Their friends and the rest of the Corroded Coffin guys come out, frolicking and shouting, complimenting Eddie on the show. If anyone noticed them embracing, notices the way they both adjust their clothing to hide their matching arousal, they don't say anything.

Steve wakes early the next morning, early enough that Eddie doesn't even stir beside him, hair wild and eyeliner smeared.

He gets out of bed, starts breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, Eddie's favorite. He's so intent on cooking that he doesn't hear the other man come up behind him, doesn't realize he's even awake until a warm body presses to his back, long-fingered hands slipping under his t-shirt, tracing the scars on his stomach. He leans into it without a thought. They touch all the time, but they don't touch like this.

"Watcha making, sweetheart?" Eddie whispers.

"Your favorite," Steve answers.

Eddie makes a little sound, almost a whimper, and presses his face to Steve's neck. Steve lifts his chin, leaning into Eddie and offering more. Warm lips press against his jaw, down to the moles on his throat. A moan slips from his lips as he grinds his ass into Eddie's hardness. The other man groans, grabbing at Steve's hips.

Somewhere in the press of their bodies, Steve has the presence of mind to turn. He lifts his hands, cups Eddie's jaw, thumbs caressing the stubbled, scarred skin of his cheeks. "Okay?" He asks. His voice shakes.

Eddie's eyes are wide, shining, and he swallows hard. Steve knows he's overwhelmed, knows that the words won't come. Instead, Eddie nods, and finally finally they kiss.

Steve is flying. His blood soars in his veins, his heart lifts off. It was always supposed to be this. Always supposed to be them.

It was slow. It was easy. It was small jokes, and long looks, and little touches, and singing in cars and best friends and sharing beds.

His heart belonged to Eddie Munson for months. It will belong to him forever.

[yudol-skorbi]

we heard you like metal huh name every metal ever

[penelope-featherington]

eddie & steve + subtle moments of realization

[thespicey]

It’s You

So I’ve had this beautiful thought by @steddierthings sitting in my likes just waiting for the right inspiration to hit and it finally did. Just did a quick edit on it so I apologize if there’s some funky spelling or grammar, needed to get it out before the motivation abandoned me.

Word Count: 2.8K

C/W: Use of F*g once because the 80′s were rough. 

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